Sunflowers
by imfallingforyoureyes102
Summary: "What's your favorite flower?" "What?" "Your favorite flower?" "Why?" (Or, Oliver is having a crap day at the office and it's Felicity and a bouquet of sunflowers that let him know everything is going to be alright).


**Another quick one because I like wasting time! Let me know what you think!**

Oliver lets out a long huff, the rumble in his throat boarding a growl as he drags a hand down his face. He's exhausted – eyes droopy, legs weary, bone crippling kind of tired that's been building up for days – and for the first time in _months_ he feels like maybe he'll actually be able to sleep without the fear of nightmares. Oliver leans heavily against the bar, shoulders hunching as he pushes off against it in the next instant in an agitated dance. He's about to stalk off – about to take a lap or two around the perimeter of the Gala because he's _so damn antsy_ – but then Felicity's staring up at him with wide and innocent eyes and her fuchsia gown is bringing out the flush in her cheeks and -,

"What's your favorite flower?"

Oliver blinks.

"What?"

"Your favorite flower?"

"Why?" Oliver askes in a clipped tone, voice coming out a bit sharper than he means to. Felicity's eyes fall to his chest, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth. She looks a bit put out and the way that Oliver is staring at her – so intently and insistently – is easily mistaken as annoyance.

He's not annoyed, though – he could never be with Felicity. Not really.

He's just confused and he can't help the wave of adoration that floods his body as he watches her shoulders pull into a small shrug, the corners of her lips tilting up into a slight, understanding smile. She's turning away, hand reaching out to stuff another crab cake in her mouth and –

"Sunflowers."

Felicity pauses.

Oliver's eyes are a bit wider than normal, his mind racing a mile a minute because _where did that come from? _He doesn't know what made him say it – doesn't know why those flowers were the first thing that popped into his head when he's been a rose giving kind of guy his whole life.

But then Felicity gives him a cheeky smile, a satisfied murmur of agreement muffled from the food in her mouth, and Oliver realizes he'd say anything and everything to keep the spark of light he sees dancing around in her eyes.

It's only a few hours later when Felicity's pulling out her phone to track down their suspect that he notices the smattering of sunflowers decorating her phone case.

That was weeks ago.

Oliver can barely remember that night – can barely remember the endless chase he had gone on after their suspect that night because it had ended with a bullet in his shoulder and a fist in his face. It's only as he's rounding the corner to go to his office one day that the faint memory is suddenly brought back full force.

It's been a shit day. He can feel the fatigue saddled deep in his bones – can feel the welts and bruises under his dress shirt from the night before, when he had nearly been pitched off of a building. Isabel Rochev has moved up higher in Oliver's mental most hated list (she's at the top of Felicity's), R&D is heckling him about their plans to expand to South Asia, Tommy won't stop bugging him about his where he stands with Laurel, his mother is ten times pissed at him for skipping out on yet another important gala, and Detective Lance has been so far up his ass – both Oliver Queen's and the Arrow's – that Oliver's seconds away from sticking himself with one of the sedatives in the Foundry just to experience the beauty of unconsciousness for a few minutes.

And that's just covering the billionaire playboy aspect of his life. Oliver squeezes his eyes shut and lets out an aggravated huff when he remembers that there's a Croatian Gang stealing military grade weapons in the south part of the city.

Oliver stalks across the tiled floors, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly in a futile attempt to stave off the migraine that's clawing its way into his head. He keeps his head down and eyes lowered the entire way to his office and pushes on the glass doors with a little too much force.

It's only when he's a few feet from his desk that he see's them.

_Flowers. _

A giant, beaming bouquet of bright, yellow sunflowers.

Oliver is turning to Felicity's desk in an instant, his heart already failing to beat regularly because _who am I supposed to be giving flowers to? Did I forget someone's birthday? _

Felicity's desk is vacant – her chair empty – and Oliver turns back to the bouquet, eyes searching for some sort of card. He thumbs at the delicate petals, and the vibrant yellow against his tanned skin suddenly brings back the ghosts of the conversation from long ago.

Oliver jumps slightly when his office door opens and he turns to see Felicity strolling in with a half-eaten granola bar trapped between her lips. Her eyes are glued to her tablet, only flashing up to meet his as she extends her arm to hand him a folder. A smile falls across her features but is gone in an instant when he sees the expression on his face.

"What?"

Oliver doesn't say anything. He tilts his head slightly as he presses his lips together before glancing back at the flowers and somehow, they both.

"You seemed down," Felicity says, her voice a careful balance between matter-of-fact and a whisper. "Flowers always make me happy, I thought you might -,"

But she's cut off quickly and Oliver's doing something he's never done in his whole life – at least not with her – and it takes them both a second to realize that his arms are wrapped tightly around her and his chin is resting on her head and _oh, they're hugging. _

"Thank you."

Oliver's words come out in a hoarse whisper, and the shaky breath he lets out after startles the both of them.

He pulls back then, his eyes finding Felicity's own, and the wave of affection that floods through his body hits him so hard that he has to place a hand on his desk to steady himself. Oliver doesn't have tears in his eyes but they're also definitely not dry and he wants to say something – _God_, he wants to say everything_. _

_Thank you for being here._

_Thank you for knowing me. _

_Thank you for stepping out of the light to stand with me in the dark. _

_Thank you for _being _my light. _

He can't though, and sometimes he thinks he'll never be able to because of who he is. And that thought alone makes his chest ache in a way far worse than a gunshot. He shakes it away, instead taking in the sparkle in Felicity's eyes and the scrunch of her nose as she offers him a timid smile.

There are a million things that Oliver could have done differently in his past to have avoided all the tragedy that has been engraved into his being.

He wouldn't change a thing, though. Not for the world. Because every bullet wound, every torturous day on the island, every time he had wished for death - every crippling heartache and broken bone and sorrowful night has led him to this.

_To Felicity. _

He wants to tell her all of that, but his chest is too tight and his lips struggle to find the words, so he settles for pulling her hand into his and giving it a tight squeeze.

They stand like that, gazes locked and unwavering, and it's only the sharp tell-tale noise of heels against tile that has them both pulling away as Thea Queen comes to a stop against the doorframe. She looks between the two of them, eyebrow raised in question, before she shakes her head and nods towards Oliver.

"Still on for lunch, big bro?"

Oliver nods, giving Felicity's forearm a squeeze. She smiles up at him again – the smile that Oliver has come to associate with warmth and comfort and_ home. _He thumbs at the petals of the sunflowers one more time before striding over to Thea.

(If there's a bit more pep in his step, Felicity doesn't say anything).

It's only when the Queen siblings are in the elevator that Thea turns to her older brother.

"Who is she to you? Really?

"A friend."

"You got your friend flowers?"

Oliver turns to Thea, and for a second the younger Queen is startled by how soft and open and amazed Oliver's face is – how much he looks like the Ollie before the island and years of wasted youth.

He smiles then, a real, genuine, full teeth on display smile that Thea can't remember ever seeing in her life.

"No," he says softly, his voice a mixture between wonder and disbelief. "She got them for me."

**Let me know what you think, I love every little word you guys say! Also, check me out on Archive of our Own. I have a little series called "On the Outside Looking In" with a lot of these little one-shots where different people (Moira, Walter, Lance, etc) observe our favorite couple. Thanks again my dudes! Love ya!**


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